Closed Doors
by stratosmacca
Summary: Vila reflects during the crew's first night on Xenon base, and finds that another does as well. Takes place during 'Rescue'.


**Closed Doors**  
_By stratosmacca_

Vila walked down one of the many hallways in the strange base. Dorian had been right in that there seemed to be quarters ready for everyone, and inside them sat a fresh change of clothes, washing facilities-- it was really quite remarkable for a base that looked so mundane upon first glance.

Newly clean and feeling as refreshed as he could remember in days, Vila began a search for some of the wine Dorian kept under lock and key. He passed by the other quarters in the hallway, presumably intended for the other members of the Liberator's misplaced crew. It seemed so odd. Almost as if they'd been expected…

As he approached the last door in the hall, Vila stopped, startled as the doors opened with a whir and Avon stepped out, nearly slamming into the small thief.

"Ah! Sorry, Avon," Vila yelped in surprise as he stepped aside. His eyes moved from Avon to the cabin doors and back again, and his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "I thought your quarters were down that way," he said, pointing in the direction of the cabins he'd just passed.

"It's none of your concern," Avon snapped. Flashing Vila an annoyed glare, he turned and walked away.

Vila watched Avon until he turned around the bend in the hallway and was out of eyesight, then shrugged. He glanced over at the cabin doors. The locking mechanism was turned off as if it hadn't been programmed. So it _wasn't_ Avon's cabin. After each of them had settled into their respective rooms, they'd been instructed to key in a passcode that would only respond to their commands, effectively acting as a lock to keep others out and give the crew a small sense of privacy should they require it.

Vila frowned. So which cabin _was_ this? The thief touched the side panel to the left of the set of doors. They opened silently and he stepped inside.

The cabin was an exact copy of his own. Small bed in the corner, bare, cream-colored walls, a closet and small hallway through which was a washing facility. Nothing exactly note-worthy. So why had Avon been here?

Vila looked over the room haphazardly when a small bit of gray cloth caught his attention. He moved to the closet and discovered that the door had been left slightly ajar. He reached out and pulled on the handle. Inside the closet were a variety of different outfits, boots and accessories. All of them were feminine.

Vila looked up sharply and painful realization dawned on his face.

This was meant to be Cally's cabin.

Sadly, he lifted a hand and felt one of the gray sleeves, which would never be worn. The fabric was so gentle and yet strong at the same time. Just like Cally.

Quietly shutting the closet door, Vila turned to face the bed in the far corner of the room. He'd overlooked it before, but now could see a faint impression on the bed sheets as if someone had been sitting there very recently.

Avon.

Vila walked to the bed and slowly sat down beside the impression. It didn't seem right to sit where Avon had just been. It almost didn't feel right to be sitting here at all, but he had been Cally's friend too and missed her almost as much as Avon must, though he knew the man would never admit to it.

He'd never understood what Cally had seen in Avon. So cold and calculating. It was rare that the man showed any emotion at all. Granted, most times he went to great lengths to stay out of Avon's way, so it was possible that he may have missed a time or two... But it was obvious to them all that Cally had feelings for him. Whether or not they were ever returned was unknown to him, but he had a nagging suspicion that they were, and were just one of the many emotions that Avon kept hidden from everyone. Maybe even Cally herself.

Vila sighed. He'd wanted to save Cally. He'd have done it too-- gone back for her-- if the final explosion hadn't gone off and sent him sprawling to the ground. He wished they'd never gone to Terminal. They would still have the Liberator and Cally would still be alive.

Now... What would they do?

Better not to think about such things, Vila reprimanded himself. Not now. Perhaps someday he would gather up the courage to speak to Avon. Tell him that he understood and knew why he'd been in Cally's cabin. But not now. Right now he was on a quest to find that wine and make good use of it, especially now that his thoughts were endlessly flooding with memories of his recently deceased friend.

Before he could stop it, a single trickle of thought found its way into his mind, and he inwardly cursed himself at his inability to stifle his thoughts. He suddenly realized with blinding clarity that he missed her voice in his head. That calm, soothing voice that seemed to wash over his mind like a gentle stream whenever she chose to share it with him. And now he would never hear it again. Could that have been something Avon had realized as well? Was that what he thought about as he sat here, just inches from where Vila was now? Probably that and more, he realized sadly.

Shaken by his thoughts, Vila knew that by the time this day was over he would be drowning his sorrows in Dorian's wine. But first he had to find it …

Standing up, Vila took one last, sad look about the small cabin and walked through the doors that opened without hesitation. When they closed, the room was engulfed in darkness and the silence was deafening.

--Fin.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I'm an artist, not a writer. So I apologize beforehand if this story wasn't up to par with other _Blake's 7_ writings out there! It is _very_ rare that I write anything; I usually only do it if something really strikes me. Avon/Cally strikes me. I can't help it. While watching 'Rescue' again just recently, this idea occurred to me. 

I have a drawing to go along with this (called 'Silence'), which can be found on my homepage. Thanks for reading. Comments are most welcome!


End file.
